of our space

the space between us is thirty-eight centimetres. this pregnant vastness is inflating like enthusiastic balloons tugging at their strings, crowding cheerfully into our minds, waving flags at the parade of our hearts we stare at each other but not look, we are near bursting. neither can think of anything but thirty-eight centimetres.

the space between us is twenty years. the upturn of your nose grew from smelling her hair, your gait from walking her home. my photos have burnt silhouettes from the extinguished fire of his kisses. when we hold hands, the air in between cradles the musty thickness of our very first hand fitting, when our veins sighed themselves into a spring forest. now it is an acid that rusts our breaths green.

the space between us is weightless. the ocean blue only deepens in our search for an edge, without the gravity of a heart beat we float soundlessly in a milky way for words if not spoken desires if not shown sound if not heard, do not, will not, exist.